


fill my cup with zero fucks

by sightstone (symmetrophobic)



Series: you and i were fire, fireworks [2]
Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: M/M, generous sprinkling of other lck members, more of a character centric fic than anything?, university!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 07:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12008028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symmetrophobic/pseuds/sightstone
Summary: It's difficult being a good person, particularly when you're not too sure what good is, anymore. That's not to say that Jaewan doesn't still try, though.





	fill my cup with zero fucks

**Author's Note:**

> part of the uni!au written earlier, done to straighten out thoughts and waste time i should be spending studying huhu :""") (also now that this is out of the way i can finally focus on other things) dynamic was based mostly on bang and wolf's friendship earlier on in their career, when both of them were still publicly happy about being in each other's presence, aka before they got married and it became embarrassing to admit that they like, like each other, or something.
> 
> title from forgetting all about you, by phoebe ryan.

“I don’t feel comfortable with it. You know?”

Jaewan nods into a spoonful of broth. It wavers and tilts, spilling soup into his rice. Pity.

“There are things we agree on. When you like someone, you do things for them, right?” Sungu doesn’t seem to have noticed. His plate is long empty – he’s got a special knack for shovelling food into his mouth like it’ll get up and run away if he doesn’t, and talking while he’s at it. “I just,” he gestures feebly. “I feel like I’ve done a lot for him. That sounds selfish, doesn’t it?”

“Not really,” Jaewan lies. He eats another spoon of rice, cold and lumpy in his mouth.

“He doesn’t think so,” Sungu scoffs. “He always says I’m asking too much. I’m not, I just want the best for us, he always,” his voice rises a little here, as he makes a frustrated gesture. “Sometimes I feel like he’s just thinking about himself.”

“That’s not right,” the older boy recites, giving up on his food and thinking about the lessons he has coming up next.

“Yeah, but obviously I can’t just tell him that, he _blows up_ the moment I say something that offends him in the slightest,” the freshman throws up his hands. “You know, taking into account the things _he_ says that offends the fuck out of me, shouldn’t he cut me a little slack?”

“He should.”

“It’s such a _nightmare_ dealing with him sometimes!”

“I’ll bet.”

Sungu slumps a little, sighing. “Why do I love him so much?”

That one, Jaewan doesn’t have the answer to, and to be fucking honest, he isn’t all that hard pressed to find it.

“He’s amazing but sometimes I feel like he just wants to kill me and make it all about himself.”

“He wouldn’t be the only one.”

“Hyung,” Sungu nudges him, looking a mix of depressed and sheepish. “You have a module with Wangho later, right? The language one?”

Jaewan remains silent for a while. “Yeah. Tomorrow afternoon.”

The air is silent with the weight of unmet expectations for a while, and Jaewan looks across the crowded university cafeteria, wondering why more people aren’t eating alone (maybe they don’t have friends like his), feeling the younger boy’s hopeful gaze on the side of his face. For a moment, the sophomore wonders if he’s being selfish. Then he smiles, hoping it reaches his eyes.

“Sure, I could help you talk to him.”

“You’re the best, hyung,” Sungu picks his tray up, eyes bright, before hefting his bag over his shoulder. “I’ve got lessons now, see you around! Say hi to Sungung-hyung for me tonight too!”

Jaewan ditches the rest of his food at the tray return, wondering if he’ll be able to find a place around here with decent connection so he can catch up on the lecture he’d just missed for this meal.

*

Jaewan’s advanced philosophy lecturer, a stout, balding Caucasian man in his late fifties, once quoted some dead white man’s claim that there was an inherent good in every human, hanging the little housewarming placard on a nail driven into their corkboard.

He then instructed everyone in the class (all 17 of them) to laugh at it. The placard remains, or so their lecturer had offhandedly said, for them to understand that sometimes smart people do say very stupid things.

Jaewan never sleeps in that class. The girl who’d dozed off in the second row got the placard to her head.

“This stuff is ageing me,” the lit major admits, huddled at the library table in an old school jacket, trawling through a depressing paragraph on axe-men and the appropriate can’s and Kant’s.

Seunghoon sniffs into his notes from across the table, snore aborted, and buries his head further in his arms, pulling his hood down.

*

It doesn’t make much sense to claim that there is good and evil in humans.

(That wasn’t meant to start a debate, sit down, for fuck’s sake.)

What’s good for someone is always bad for someone else, _good_ and _evil_ are probably the two most disgustingly overlooked relative terms. If Jaewan were to reduce the cause and effect in this world down to two very basic elements of the mind, it would be selfishness and smarts.

Some people are just smart enough to know how to get what they want, and some are selfish enough to do it. Those smart and selfish enough can even get other people to do it for them. He would call this theory the Smartfish Postulate, or something as stupid and wild to memorise for suffering university students.

It’s too bad Jaewan isn’t very good at either.

“There’s just _so much_ I have to do this semester,” Bumhyeon sighs.

It’s over a meal again, Jaewan supposes he should’ve seen this coming. He likes what he’s eating this time, though, and dinners with Bumhyeon have never been all too bad.

“How’s the recruitment drive prep for your club?” He chooses to ask, and the other boy sighs again, firing off a text to someone. Of course, Bumhyeon being Bumhyeon, he’d be in the sub-committee of the school’s student union, doomed to forever tank the shit logistics for every event.

“The first day’s in less than a week and we’re still unconfirmed on manpower and movement,” Bumhyeon’s food’s barely been touched, he hasn’t been able to put his phone down all meal. “Don’t you have any club stuff to prepare for?”

“Not really,” Jaewan says, realising how lame that sounds only after he’s said it. Sure, he’s in a couple of university clubs, but never in a position important enough to actually have to _do_ big things during events. He pauses, waiting for Bumhyeon to reply. “So, how’s lessons?”

“Same old, biochemistry lectures never change, a bunch of stuff to memorise,” Bumhyeon glances up for a moment, looking dispirited. “I wish I’d taken arts like you sometimes, it’d make my life so much easier.”

Jaewan doesn’t know why that makes him feel smaller inside than he already does. He chalks it up to a shitty day of lessons and poor diet.

“Most of the subcomm are in arts, they ask me how I do it all the time,” the other boy rolls his eyes, holding up a hand, before it goes right back to his phone. “As if I’m actually doing anything right.”

The younger boy remains silent. Bumhyeon has a solid perfect GPA, far prettier on his degree audit than Jaewan’s measly 4.3.

“We should hang out again sometime,” Jaewan ends up offering, after a pause. “All four of us. You know.”

“Oh,” Bumhyeon’s brow creases a little, still looking at his phone. “Uh, sure? Maybe after this month? Let Jongin and I know when you plan something.”

Jaewan wonders mutely when this had become a _Jongin and I_ thing, wonders if Bumhyeon remembers the multitude of texts he’d sent just six months ago begging Jaewan to introduce him to Junsik’s tall, intimidating, really handsome (not really) roommate.

“Ugh, I _forgot_ ,” Bumhyeon claps a hand over his forehead suddenly, looking frustrated. “We’ve got that pair essay due for the sociology elective next Tuesday, right?”

“Yeah, that one,” Jaewan’s mildly relieved to be onto something else. It’s their second year taking electives together despite reading different degrees, having known each other since high school, and thankfully, Bumhyeon had agreed to taking an arts elective this semester. That societal biology module last semester had been _hell_ for Jaewan, he hasn’t touched science since SATs. “So, do you want to meet sometime later this week to discuss it? Or we could do it now?”

“Sorry, I’ve got union meetings on tonight and Friday night, and a meeting for my other society tomorrow, plus logistics prep over the weekend,” Bumhyeon says apologetically. “And…recruitment starts next Monday, so…I’m sorry, there’s just so _much_ to do…”

Jaewan sits blankly for a moment, fully aware of what Bumhyeon expects him to say.

“You’re free right? No club stuff? And you’re so _good_ at all that artsy lit stuff, I’ll probably just mess it up.”

The pause stretches on momentarily. Then the younger boy nods, looking up with a smile. “Sure. I can get started on it, I’ll share the document online,” he pauses. “You can come in and check it, add on, I guess.”

“Ah, you’re the _best_ , Jaewan-ah,” Bumhyeon sighs in relief, starting to shove his stuff into his bag. “I’m just so busy around this time, but I promise I’ll make up for it later!”

“Your meeting starts soon?” Jaewan asks, watching Bumhyeon pack, food still half-eaten.

“Yeah, I’ve just gotta be there a little earlier to prepare the presentation powerpoint,” the older boy stands with his bag, laughing as he takes his tray. “Have fun later, uhm,” he waves to someone else, distracted for a moment. “Doing work! See you next Tuesday!”

He disappears quickly into the dinner crowd, and Jaewan takes his time gathering his things, before lifting his own tray to return it.

It’s okay, he’s always preferred doing things on his own, anyway.

*

“So have you talked to him?”

 _Wow_ , Jaewan thinks drily, rearranging his bag on his lap. Sure, he’d been expecting this the moment he saw Jongin board the bus and head for the empty seat next to his, but at least the others had made attempts with small talk first.

The older boy is looking over at him anxiously, one knee jutting out into the bus aisle because of how stupidly long his legs are.

“You mean Bumhyeon?”

“No, I meant the president of the chess club,” Jongin rolls his eyes. “Yes, duh, who else do we both know.”

_I don’t know, your roommate, who helped you get to know Bumhyeon, maybe._

“He’s been busy,” Jaewan says, trying not to sound testy. He’d stayed up till five last night fleshing out the bulk of the essay while he had the drive to do it, strangely determined to get a good grade on this one. It’s his bad sleep patterns that are going to be the end of him, really. He’s getting irritable at just about _anyone_. “Really busy. Hasn’t even had the time to do work.”

“Really?” Jongin says bluntly. “He said he completed all his microbiology tutorials last night. We were texting, you know,” _okay, that’s great, I don’t really care,_ “until 2 in the morning. That’s a good thing, right?”

“I guess?” Jaewan glances out the window, hoping he won’t miss his stop.

“Anyway, you haven’t asked him?” Jongin sounds disappointed, like a child being told he couldn’t have his candy after all. “You said you were having dinner with him last night, right?”

“We didn’t manage to get on the topic,” the younger boy replies. It’s true. They hadn’t. Though Jaewan’s pretty sure that if he brought up anything on Jongin, Bumhyeon probably would’ve dropped everything to listen to what he had to say.

“Ah,” Jongin slumps, dispirited, into the bus seat. “I was hoping to tell him. You know. Tonight, or something.”

_This is the fifth time you’re saying this. And you’ve never told him._

“What if he doesn’t like me back?”

Jaewan stares at the passing scenery, watching as tired raindrops start to fall, hitting the window and dragged backwards by inertia.

Personally, he wouldn’t be all that fussed if they just never happened, it’s not like he approved of it in the first place. But really, what place does his opinion have in this matter?

Maybe they deserved each other, after all.

“Sure,” Jaewan echoes, as the bus slows to a stop, and a flood of students get on. “I’ll ask him next month, when the student union’s recruitment drive is over.”

“Yeah, _that’s_ more like it,” Jongin claps a hand on Jaewan’s back. “Anyway, when you were having dinner last night, did he talk about me? At all?”

*

Jaewan’s fringe is dripping with rainwater, frozen fingers hurriedly texting Yongin when he walks into the convenience store, grabbing a lighter from the box and placing it on the counter.

He’s fumbling with his wallet when he realises the man behind the counter is asking him something, and looks up to see the questioning look on his face, finger indicating the row of cigarette packs in the glass case behind.

 _Oh, this isn’t_ , he wants to say. _This is for my friend’s birthday cake candles._

But then he stops. And he thinks.

And then he doesn’t.

*

Jaewan learns about cognitive dissonance in a psychology elective he takes in the first semester, the only elective he’d taken alone and the only one he really enjoyed.

It’s the state of mental discomfort experienced when one’s behaviour and actions don’t match. Like a smoker tasked to do a pamphlet on potential lung cancer risk, or an art teacher giving a talk to their students on the importance of science and technology in the current day and age.

Simply put, everyone feels stupid doing something they know isn’t what they’re supposed to do, or what they’re supposed to want.

To get rid of this discomfort, then, most people choose to do one of two things. Either they change the behaviour ( _I stop saying yes when I don’t want to_ ) or they change their cognition.

( _I keep saying yes because I want to._ )

 _I want to do these things, I’m a good person and I want to help people because it makes me feel happy_.

Except Jaewan knows that isn’t true, knows that it runs deeper than that, knows that trying to figure it out would be to unravel a ball of yarn into a thick, tangled mess going on for miles that he’ll never be able to fix himself, and it would be better to just keep quiet.

So, following through on every other stupid thing he’s done in his life, he doesn’t do either, instead teetering wistfully on the precipice of today, shoulders crushed under the weight of a hope and anxiety that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be better.

*

“Hey, Jaewan hyung.”

Jaewan flinches by reflex now, looking up cautiously over his photocopied textbook annotations to see Wangho standing by his table, bag over his shoulder, putting his phone down. “Did you get my message?”

“Uhm, no, sorry,” Jaewan apologises, rummaging through his bag. He usually locks his phone away when he’s trying to study. “When’d you send it?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” Wangho shrugs. He looks around, checking his phone again. “I wanted to ask you something over text, but since you’re here I guess I can just do it now.”

Jaewan automatically, politely, shifts some of his stuff aside, and Wangho sits at the corner of the table, sending a message off to someone. “Ah,” the older boy says, thinking about his notes and the readings he has due by tomorrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing on until later, anyway,” Wangho sets his phone down, turning towards Jaewan. “I just wanted to ask about Sungu, you know.”

Jaewan lets the conversation lapse for a while. _We’ve spoken about this. I thought we resolved this._ “Yes?”

“As in,” Wangho says, gesturing, as if Jaewan’s supposed to get something. “Did you talk to him?”

He looks over blankly for a moment. “We…talked about this, right? I told you how he was feeling.”

“Yeah, and then I said how I felt,” the younger boy replies, pointing to himself. “And then you said you’d talk to him about it.”

“…Actually, I was under the impression you were going to talk to him yourself.”

“ _Ahh_ , hyung,” Wangho sounds annoyed, like he’d just confirmed his suspicions on something. “I can’t just _talk_ to him myself. So you didn’t talk to him at all? He thinks I’ve just been ignoring him?”

Jaewan bites his tongue. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”

Wangho sighs, picking up his phone again, and Jaewan feels something kick out within his chest, right then.

“Why can’t you talk to him yourself, again?”

The younger boy looks at him, irritation flashing over his face momentarily, before he says, sounding a little put upon: “I know you’ve never dated before but that’s just not the way it works, okay?”

Jaewan doesn’t say anything to that, instead choosing to go back to his notes.

“So are you going to tell him?”

“What?”

“When are you going to talk to him?” Wangho asks. “Tonight?”

Jaewan highlights a phrase, choosing not to look up. “Sure.”

The younger boy sighs again, gathering his things. “Tell me what he says, okay?” He stands, straightening his jacket, checking his phone as he gets a call. “Ah, hyung, people shouldn’t say they’ll do things and then not do them in the end, it’s really annoying.”

Then Wangho leaves, telling the person on the other end that he’ll be there soon, and Jaewan picks up his phone, opening the Kakaotalk conversation with Sungu. He enters and backspaces a few messages, before finally sending one, reciting everything Wangho had said when they’d spoken those few days back.

The reply comes almost instantaneously, pelting him with a bunch of questions, and Jaewan spends the next hour trying to answer him.

As usual, it ends with a _can you help me ask him? Tonight?_ and Jaewan answers with a short _tomorrow_? before stowing his phone away in his bag and returning to his readings.

He doesn’t get a lot of sleep that night, as per every other night, but he finishes the readings, and if he’s honest, that’s all he can care about right now.

*

It’s 11pm by the time Jaewan gets back to his room on Friday night. He’d been drinking with Seunghoon and a couple of other guys, and while a single bottle of soju’s never been enough to get him tipsy, he’s sufficiently light-headed enough that it takes him more effort than usual to get his shoes off his feet.

Sungung still has his desk light still on, accountancy tutorials sprawled across his desk and slightly neglected while he texts.

“Hey hyung,” Jaewan says, dumping his bag by his desk, resisting the urge to dump himself on his bed. The weight of the week presses down on his eyelids, only mildly relieved by the alcohol in his system, not as much as he’d been hoping for.

“Hey Jaewan,” Sungung replies, not looking up from his phone. Jaewan stares out the rusty window grilles for a while, into the darkness outside, overlooking the basketball court below, now shrouded in twilight.

“How was today?” He starts, almost on autopilot, by now.

Sungung sighs. “Okay, I guess.”

That hangs in the air for a while, before Sungung seems to realise that Jaewan isn’t replying. He looks over for a moment, then, offering a half-hearted smile. “ _Lectures_ , am I right?”

Jaewan laughs listlessly, head still a little muddled. Sungung goes back to texting, shoulders hunched forward, legs brought up on his chair. His pen is uncapped on his notes but it seems like he hasn’t touched either in a while.

The younger boy frowns, then, noting the crease in the senior’s brow, and gets up, walking over, just able to catch a glimpse of the ID Sungung’s texting.

“ _Hyung_ ,” he demands, and Sungung jumps, clutching his phone protectively to his chest. “Hyung, are you texting him _again_?”

“Jaewan, we’re just _talking_ -…”

“Yeah, that’s what you say _every time_ , and every time he ends up hurting you more!” Jaewan makes a grab for the phone, Sungung leaning away. “He’s _not worth_ your time, hyung!”

“It doesn’t _hurt_ to be just friends again-…”

“You _know_ that’s not what he wants!” Jaewan doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol, or the month past, or just _him_ , just his general inability to be a good friend, that has him shouting. “And when he’s gotten what he wants he’s just going to leave you again!”

“Jaewan, _I don’t care_!” Sungung pulls his phone back, pushing Jaewan’s hand away. “Look,” he sighs, pained, turning away. “Just let me handle this on my own, okay?”

The younger boy stands, silenced, for a moment. Then he takes a step back, bile burning the back of his throat, and decisively, he walks out of the room, letting the door click shut quietly behind him.

And so Jaewan walks away, night wind blowing stiff against his face, jaw sewn shut, into the unknown of 12am, 1am, till the stars know all his secrets.

*

He wakes up to something hitting his face.

Jaewan opens his eyes to see a pack of mint gum on his lap. Considering everything the world’s thrown at him for the past month or so, this honestly isn’t all that bad.

Then he looks up, blinking a lack of sleep out of his eyes. He’s where he’d fallen asleep last night, under a partially open sky, tucked behind one of the numerous staircases in the school, this one leading down from the roof, and it’s then he sees a familiar silhouette in the early dawn light.

Jaewan’s heart clenches tightly in his ribcage.

Junsik walks over, kicking away some of the cigarette butts that litter the floor around Jaewan, before dropping his duffel bag unceremoniously by his feet.

“You’re back early,” Jaewan croaks, wincing at how terrible his voice sounds. He’d been keeping track, on the little bank-subscription table calendar on his desk - Junsik was only supposed to come back on Monday.

“We stopped together,” the other boy says, ignoring his comment. He smells of the airport when he leans over, plucking the lighter and the empty white box out of Jaewan’s hand.

“Yeah,” Jaewan recites, not quite sure what he’s saying anymore. He feels a headache coming on, probably from the alcohol last night. “We did.”

There’s silence, broken by the sound of a morning bird beginning to call, as Junsik sweeps the trash further away with his shoe, before settling heavily by Jaewan’s side.

“Sungung texted me,” he eventually says, voice flat. “I cabbed over from the airport after I touched down.”

“You were supposed to go home first.”

“Yeah, didn’t really work out that way, did it?”

“Sorry,” Jaewan says morosely, and he means it. _Sorry for being this disaster of a human being. Sorry I’m a shitty friend and a shittier boyfriend._ “So,” he starts, clearing his throat. “How was your exchange?”

“How was my exchange?” Junsik repeats, and Jaewan flinches again. “ _How’s the exchange, take care, I miss you,_ is all you can say for a month, and when I ask how you are, you say _you’re fine_?”

“Things _are fine_ ,” the other boy waves indistinctly, well aware of how terrible of a lie that is right now, but still hoping it’ll work anyway. “Really. It’s just-…” he reaches feebly for the right words. “Small things. Things are fine, things are good, I just,” he pauses in that trainwreck of a sentence, finally, brokenly, uttering the first truth. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Who was it?” Junsik asks, voice edged with contempt he doesn’t (never had) bother to hide. “What’d they say?”

Jaewan doesn’t say anything for a moment, thinking about everything in its entirety and feeling his insides burn up with quiet shame at how small everything seems in retrospect, and everything he feels, even smaller.

“I’m a bad friend,” he confesses, not knowing what else to say, staring into the shadow of the air vent against the concrete floor across the faux rooftop.

Junsik just sighs, then, and Jaewan feels fear for the first time this morning, wondering if he’ll get up and leave too, because this conversation’s done nothing but trouble him so far, and that’s what people do when they don’t like what they hear.

People other than Jaewan – because that’s the only thing he can change about himself, the only thing he can control to make sure he’s different. To make sure he’s indispensable.

But Junsik doesn’t. He stares across the pale green tiled floor, illuminated by the tired morning sun, for a while, before speaking quietly. “You don’t have to do what they ask you to do.”

“They never asked me,” Jaewan doesn’t know why he says it, because it makes him feel worse when he does. It’s the truth, though, and Junsik deserves nothing less. “I told them I would.”

“Why?”

It’s not demeaning, not presumptuous, and Jaewan appreciates the sincerity in that single word, so he answers the same way.

“I don’t know.”

It’s a selfish response. Jaewan knows that much. It leaves the conversation open, obliges Junsik to come up with an answer, doesn’t let them pack and tidy the morning away to celebrate the fact that he’s finally back. It’s a response that demands attention, and Jaewan despises that as much as he despises everyone who asks of that from him.

So he tries to end it there, take back the sincerity he’d put out between them.

“We should go-…”

“Tell me about your week.”

“What?”

Junsik shrugs, opening a section of his duffel and taking out a packet of complimentary airplane peanuts and two bottles of water, tossing one over. “What happened this week? Did Jongin successfully fuck up his fifth confession attempt? Are Sungu and Wangho on or off right now? Is Sanghyeok suddenly able to hold a group chat conversation without disappearing on us? Is the canteen near the mass comms building operational again, or do you still have to walk all the way down to engineering to get lunch?”

Jaewan laughs weakly, accepting the bottle and taking a drink from it, looking at the dusty patterns of ash on the ground, thinking _what the heck_. “Yeah. The canteen’s still down, because our money’s going down a drain and I guess no one cares what happens to the arts majors during lunchtime.”

He takes a deep breath, before continuing, speaking the longest he’s done so in a month.

“Sanghyeok wasn’t too bad this week, actually, he’s texting more because he’s watching a new anime now and wants validation on his opinions,” Jaewan shrugs. “Sungu and Wangho are off, unless one of them decided to make a move last night that wasn’t through texting me. And yeah, Jongin did. He and Bumhyeon are texting every night now, though, so I guess there’s that. I’m supposed to ask Bumhyeon how he feels about Jongin once the union recruitment season’s over for him, maybe we’ll see after that,” he shrugs, chuckling again to himself. “Because fuck if I’m good for anything else, right?”

His jaw locks a little on the last sentence, chest crumpling silently under the weight of that sentiment put finally put in words. The silence hangs in the air, making the echoes of what he’d said grow louder with every second.

“That’s not true,” Junsik says quietly.

 _Then what is?_ Jaewan wants to ask. _What the fuck am I good for, exactly?_

But it’s a selfish question. And Jaewan is nothing if not full of quiet, polite spite at everyone who has ever been selfish to him.

“I’ll be a better friend,” is what he says instead, hollowly.

Junsik watches him, dark eyes like floodlights, pouring into the chaos of Jaewan’s soul and trying to make sense of it, but not today, not right now. Maybe when Jaewan’s figured more of this out for himself, when he deserves Junsik’s attention on this matter because he has a solution instead of just a problem.

Then the other boy leans forward, movements unpredictable as usual to everyone but Jaewan, pressing a kiss on his lips, right hand taking Jaewan’s left and pulling it close to himself, like an anchor to a ship in a rough sea.

“We could go somewhere tonight.”

Yeah. Plans, goals, a _where next_ and _when_. Junsik knows Jaewan needs that, needs it to get him up on his feet and moving again. Not to heal the wound, but to bandage it up enough that the bleeding stops.

“That ramen bar Sungu swears by,” Junsik suggests. “Then we could go along the Han River, or visit that prawning place. You know, the one where Sanghyeok pushed Seunghoon into the pond and he had to get fished out by the staff.”

Jaewan laughs again, the third time in weeks. Yeah, they all love that place.

“We could go catch up on sleep in my room first,” Junsik continues.

“Oh,” Jaewan shakes his head, but Junsik’s already waving him off.

“Jongin stayed over at Seohaeng and Bumhyeon’s place last night, he and Seohaeng were drinking so he’s probably not going to be back until like, three,” he rolls his eyes, standing. “Five, probably, if Bumhyeon’s sticking around. We’re not going to see them.”

Jaewan stands after Junsik, guiltily gathering the trash into a napkin that’d come with the water bottles, thinking of the cleaners around the area. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Nah, you take my bed, I’ll crash on Jongin’s,” Junsik hefts his bag over his shoulder, waiting for Jaewan, before they set off for the stairs together. “I came back one afternoon and they were both sitting on my bed, _studying_ ,” he complains. “They couldn’t sit on Jongin’s bed, _no_ , because the sun was coming in and Bumhyeon has _sensitive skin_. Jongin can suck it.”

That makes Jaewan laugh, really laugh, the sound bouncing out around the empty building. They pass a bin, and Jaewan tosses the trash, hesitating for a moment, before he trashes the lighter too, walking a little faster to catch up with Junsik.

“Wangho still doesn’t know, by the way,” he comments, once he’s caught up. The thought amuses him again more than it isolates him, now that Junsik’s back. And true enough, the other boy snorts.

“They’ll know if they ask,” he says casually. “In the meantime, it’s funny while they don’t.”

*

(Jaewan sends an apology text to Sungung that morning after he showers, before knocking out for the next solid five hours. He doesn’t pay much attention to his phone for the rest of the day.

They end up not going to the prawning place or the ramen, instead getting distracted by a samgyetang place on the way, papered with Twice posters to lure innocent university boys like them in.

But the food is good and the company even more so, and they argue about whether Knock Knock or Signal was better as a comeback hit until they finish, and Junsik drags Jaewan to go find bubble tea.

There’ll come a day, probably, when Jaewan’s jaded enough to show it when he doesn’t give a fuck, a day when Junsik will trust Jaewan enough not to care when someone says something he doesn’t like to hear.

But today’s a step in one of a thousand right directions, and it’s enough.)

*

“Kang Bumhyeon and Lee Jaewan?”

Jaewan nods at the professor, a little stumped by why they’re up here talking to her after the tutorial class. He’d made _sure_ that essay was at least passable, there’s no way it’d been bad enough for her to have to call them up.

“We usually don’t talk about the assignments after they’re submitted, but this essay,” she lifts the paper, nodding half to herself, glancing at them over the top of her circular rimmed glasses. “It’s an exception. It’s been a while since I’ve seen such a good argument fleshed out so well,” Jaewan’s mind floods with relief, as she looks between the two of them. “Both of you wrote it together?”

“Ah-…” Jaewan starts, about to confirm it.

“Oh no,” Bumhyeon says quickly. “Jaewan did most of it, I only added some bits here and there,” he says sheepishly. “It’s really all him.”

Jaewan blinks, surprised, as the professor turns to look at him. “I thought so – two people wouldn’t be able to have such a concise opinion and present it so well. Good work, anyway,” she taps the essay on an open palm thoughtfully. “I know you’re not a student under Soci, but would you be interested in helping out under an RA post, if we ever have a project on this? It’ll be paid, etcetera, plus it’s good for the portfolio, all that.”

Jaewan’s mouth is slightly dry, _is he hearing this right_? “Sure, I mean-…yes, professor.”

“We’ll let you know,” she turns away, tucking the essay into a file. Jaewan’s mind is blank as they thank her and walk off to get their things.

“Nice work,” Bumhyeon grins, as they leave the tutorial room.

“You didn’t have to say that, hyung,” Jaewan mumbles. “What if she’d deducted marks from you?”

“It’s fine, I was planning on applying for a pass/fail grade on this mod anyway,” Bumhyeon shrugs. “Wanna grab lunch?”

Feeling slightly more encouraged, Jaewan nods, pulling his bag a little higher over his shoulder. “Sure,” he takes out his phone, snorting at a picture Junsik had sent of Jongin, hungover on his bed after going drinking with Kyungho last night, before he remembers something.

“I need to ask you something later,” he adds. “About Jongin.”

“Oh,” Bumhyeon flushes a little. “Okay,” he pauses, glancing out the window, before turning back to Jaewan, beaming. “Thanks. For doing all this, you know.”

The younger boy laughs, meaning it when he says it, this time.

“Sure. I don’t mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos will be appreciated~ thank you~ \o/


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